


Whiskey. Alpha. Victor. Echo.

by l_grace_b



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: EFA Fic Live 4, F/F, Gen, Nicole is a Hopeless Lesbian, Sailing AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_grace_b/pseuds/l_grace_b
Summary: Nicole Haught has lived the better part of her life on the sea. Alone. And that's how she likes it.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 53





	1. On this wondrous sea sailing silently

When she was in school, it infuriated her that the other kids always colored water as blue.

It wasn't _just_ blue.

It was every color all at once. It contained entire universes, reflecting stars and every color in every sunrise and firy sunset.

Gray in a morning fog, black and onyx on a calm night. Brilliant and golden on a cloudless day.

How could one ever possibly say the water was _just_ blue?

That morning, it was a churning, steely gray, as restless as the clouds above it.

In between clouds, she saw cracks of pink and orange, which meant only one thing.

_Red sky in the morning, a sailor take warning  
Red sky at night, a sailor's delight_

Nicole was not one to ignore old sailor myths; they had served her well over the years--following them kept them alive. Kept _her_ alive.

But as she watched the clouds roll in from the south--a billowing, monstrous wall--she knew had to get out of that harbor as soon as she could. Legends be damned.

It was a sailor cliché, and Nicole hated cliches. But one night at one tavern and one tall, pretty lady with long, dark hair and probably too many drinks…

Being on the sea for the better part of her life, Nicole was accustomed to functioning on little and interrupted sleep. It's what allowed her to get a few hours of sleep and still rise before her bedmate--a good couple of hours before. Things got…busy the night before.

Nicole crept around the room, collecting her things that had been haphazardly discarded as she followed her companion into their rented room above the tavern the previous night--her thick, blue knit sweater, her gray toque, her Wellies, a canvas rucksack. She scooped up her jacket, tossed on the wooden chair in the corner of the room. She fished around in her rucksack--also double-checking everything was still in there--a logbook, a cellphone, a brass compass, a tide book, her pocket knife. She pulled out her log book and tore a page from the back.

She scribbled a few sentences on it.

_I had a really nice time last night. I told you I can't stay. Best wishes with your studies. I took care of the room.  
N_

Low, rumbling fog horns blared in the harbor below.

Time to go.

Nicole placed the note on the bedside table. The woman in the bed stirred and Nicole froze.

_Please don't wake up, please don't wake up…_

She didn't; she rolled over, adjusting the sheets, settling in for another few hours of sleep.

Nicole exhaled, watching the woman's even breathing.

 _"Do you have to go?"_ the woman's words from the night before echoed in Nicole's mind. This was before things started to become saturated in extra pints of lager and shots of whiskey.

_"I don't stay anywhere too long. I don't have a home, but I'm not trying to find one, either."_

_"How could you possibly find home if you're never there long enough to find out?"_

That's the point. She didn't want to stay anywhere because that meant _staying_. Trapped. Tied-down. Moored. She was too restless. That's why last night was such a fluke. She didn't do relationships or one-night stands or even free drinks from a cute bartender. They were all opportunities for her to stay. And she avoided them like the plague.

The bar was quiet that morning. A few patrons were already milling about--either just coming in from a long night at sea or rising, like her, to get an early start. 

The barmaid who tended to Nicole the previous night--looking fresher than anyone had the right to at this hour of the day--was already up and working, setting mugs of coffee and pitchers of cream out along the bar for anyone wanting to switch beer for caffeine.

Nicole saddled up to the bar, dropping her rucksack to the floor beside her. A mug of coffee appeared on the counter in front of her before she even settled onto her stool. Nicole added a splash of cream and watched as the hot liquid turned from black to a comforting brown.

"Your friend gonna join you?" The barmaid--Nicole recalled patrons referring to her last night as Marie--placed a hand on her hip and gestured to the empty seat next to Nicole.

"She's, uh…still sleeping."

"Long night?" She winked at Nicole.

Nicole took a sip of coffee, a flush of heat creeping into her cheeks. She did not look at Marie. "I guess. And she's not my friend."

"Oh?" Marie cocked a sly eyebrow.

"It was never gonna work out." Nicole's hands encircled the graying, ceramic mug. "I'm only in town for a day…and even that wasn't really planned…"

Even in the haze of the booze, she could feel it in her core how they were two currents brushing past one another, swirling and churning, hot and cold, but never quite merging. They never would.

Marie paused, her hand reaching for the carafe of coffee to refill Nicole's mug.

"So you _are_ a sailor," an edge ebbed into her voice. "Wouldn't've pegged you for one last night, but now…"

Nicole blushed and dropped her gaze to the counter. "I…I don't usually do that…kind of thing." She reached for her rucksack and rummaged around in it. She pulled out a small wad of bills. 

"Here. This should cover last night." She dropped the bills onto the counter. "There's some extra in there, too. When she comes down, make sure she has breakfast. On me. We drank a lot last night."

Marie raised her eyebrows in surprise but still easily swiped the cash off the counter and stowed it in her apron.

"You headed north or south?"

"North."

Marie shook her head, strands of dirty blonde hair loosening themselves from the bun perched atop her head. "Then you should stay another day. Nasty squall is coming in from the east. Ten-foot swells they're predicting."

Nicole craned her neck. The sky had changed from glaring reds and pinks to soft and pale blues and lilacs, but could note a lightness spreading up from the horizon. She still shook her head.

"No. I need to leave. I'm due in to Fire Harbor in two days."

"Quite the trip in a short time."

"Like I said, I wasn't planning on staying a day here."

"Sky was red this morning…You'll be spending a lot of time in the dark," Marie insisted, her voice soft and comforting.

Nicole gazed down into her mug, swirls of unmixed cream floating like sea foam to the edges of the mug.

Even in a storm, there was no such thing as complete darkness out on the sea.

She couldn't find an explanation for it--the silvery ridges of the swelling waves that always managed to light her way.

She was never scared to sail at night.

"Yeah, I know…" Nicole took a long sip of her coffee, nearly draining her cup. "But I can't stay here."

Marie nodded at her knowingly, then ducked below the bar. When she stood again, she held a small basket, which she placed in front of Nicole.

Inside it was a slice of herb focaccia bread, a packet of chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies, a wax bag of dried fruit.

"For your travels. May you see the way wherever the journey takes you."

* * *

Copper tolls of buoys rang out across the harbor. A chorus of seagulls cawed, greeting the early-morning fishermen.

She stopped by the outfitter--grabbed her usual beans and bandages and coffee and new coils of rope. She even treated herself to the in-season stone fruit sold by a vendor on the street. But she kept her gaze downward. No more distractions or reasons to stay.

Nicole trudged down the gangplank onto the docks. She passed the harbormaster's booth, dropping a twenty dollar bill into the overnight collection box.

She passed by a grumble of fishermen, unloading netfulls of crab and shellfish into plastic tubs. 

"Look'a' this one bravin' the storm!" They all laughed. "Where's yer husband, girlie?"

Nicole's jaw clenched. Same shit in every harbor. Men can't stand an unaccompanied woman sailor. The good ol' boys club that have spent the better part of human history convincing themselves they're the only ones who belong at sea.

Knowledge should not have to be limited by one's gender.

But their laughs, their jeers, didn't erase her or her boat or how she could raise a sail in a matter of seconds or navigate herself anywhere in the world at night if the sky was clear.

Her visibility did not rely on their approval.

She tossed her knapsack into the dinghy and hopped in after it. She flicked ropes off of the cleats and roughly shoved herself away from the dock.

Would it be better or worse to glare at the men while she rowed--the rhythmic ways her back and shoulder muscles flexed and contracted, toned over a lifetime, as she pulled through the water--or to not even give them the satisfaction that she cared about the words they spat at her?

It didn't matter. _She_ was leaving. Not them.

They were finally out of sight just as she dropped the oars and let the current bring her home.

The _Calamity Jane_.

Twenty-nine feet of blue and white-striped fiberglass and rosewood interior. Her home. The deck a mess of perfectly intertwined ropes that she knew the function and strength and age of every one. Not nearly enough space but a place for everything.

She pulled herself along the portside with the lifelines, back toward the stern. She hauled her things into the cockpit before boarding herself. Stowed her oars in the stern bench lockers. Hauled her dinghy onto the back deck and secured it. She unfolded her weather vane, cocking it to the south.

This was habit now. Ropes pulled. Lines slacked. Maps and tide books double-checked.

She set her compass on the bench beside her. She twisted the cover off, returning it to the leather pouch. She let it settle, its needle wobbling back and forth before pointing the direction she knew to be North.

"Deciding to behave yourself today, I see," Nicole sighed. The needle waggled back and forth once more, but eventually righted itself again.

She checked the horizon, seeing the wall of clouds looming closer, while feeling for the small length of rope in her pocket. She twisted the rope between her fingers. Perfect stevedore stopper. She did the same on the other end. Two perfect knots.

One she knew how to tie.

She _always_ knew how to tie that knot…

She looked one last time at the sleepy cape town she stumbled upon just for a routine provisions trip, until her toque fell out of her back pocket, to be scooped up and returned by a woman with long, dark hair…

The town was waking up. She could already hear street musicians, bicycle bells criss-crossing along the waterfront, laughter.

The people who lived here _loved_ that they lived in this town.

Must be a nice feeling to have.

Not that she envied them.

These people were set in their ways.

Settled.

Anchored.

Boats could never be anchored for long.

Barnacles grow. Paint corrodes. Sails rip.

Then it's stuck.

For who knows how long.

A distant fog horn rumbled in the distance.

A boat's greeting and farewell.

It all but gave her permission.

Weigh the anchor.

Balance the sails.

Set the course.

Go.


	2. Oh the rain it rains all day long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole gets knocked off-course.

Getting into the shower felt redundant. Even her trusty water-proof jacket somehow couldn't withstand the gale she rode through. Her clothes were more water than cotton. She peeled off each layer and plopped her clothes into the sink in a heavy, wrinkled heap.  
  
Her boots, discarded in the first empty room she could reach, probably wouldn’t be dry for days.

At least the warm water of the shower was a nice change of sensation. But she found herself unable to stop shaking. She scrubbed at her arms and legs until they were red and blotchy. Still, she couldn’t stop the trembling.

She leaned her head back against the wall of the small shower stall, letting the water rinse off all the salt water and fear. By all accounts, the last few hours shouldn’t have happened. She was careless and stupid, and almost lost her boat, and there was no getting around that.

_Things in life can come at you fast. One moment things are fine and normal. The next…your entire world is upside down. Nothing but darkness and chaos.  
  
The storm came fast.  
  
When she closed her eyes for a few minutes of sleep after her second evening line check, the horizon held nothing but a few stratus sheets. The next moment she looked up it was nothing but a wall of black cumulonimbi. Heading right toward her.  
  
The first few hours beyond the sightline of land were damp and rainy. She set her weathervane before climbing down into her cabin--which was never quite warm enough, but always dry.  
  
Warmed up her beans. Gnawed on the dried fruit. Tended a pot of bubbling water she kept going for tea and coffee and oatmeal and her hot water bottle. Stewed down some of the stone fruit, sweetened with a block of brown sugar. In the morning she could make up some biscuits and drizzle the fruit concoction on top.  
  
Scribbled a few lines in her log book. Checked her lines and weather vane. Zipped herself up in her sleeping bag for an hour or so of sleep before she had to check everything again.  
  
Then her cozy cavern began to rock and the sound akin to marbles cascading onto the deck jarred her from a dreamless sleep. She hardly gained her bearings when her boat pitched downward and nearly sent her tumbling to the floor.  
  
She instinctively grabbed the head lamp from the hook near her bunk and tugged it onto her head. She clicked it on, bluish light filling the cabin.  
  
She scaled the deck, raindrops blinding her immediately. She tugged the drawstrings around her hood tighter to keep the sideways rain from soaking her clothing.  
Wet clothes meant cold clothes meant hypothermia.  
  
The headlamp gave her a bit of light, enough to make out the mainsail boom flailing awkwardly about, rendering the mainsail useless. But the sight wasn't the concerning part; it was eventually what allowed Nicole to see the whole deck, in bright, unobstructed light.  
  
Lightning.  
  
Lightning was bad.  
  
Rain and wind she could handle.  
  
In unprotected waters, lightning could be a death sentence.  
  
Between flashes, she jumped down into the cabin, a checklist already forming in her head._

_Check for leaks and tears.  
  
Adjust course.  
  
Keep as much water out of the cabin as possible.  
  
She opened up the locker near her radio--her command station inside the cabin--and pulled out her maps and turned on her GPS.  
  
She searched her emergency locker further, pulling out a thick, red candle. She stowed the flare inside her jacket.  
  
She tilted her head down onto her compass again. The needle spun wildly around and around the center pin, switching direction every few revolutions.  
  
"Oh, you're no help," Nicole groaned before stowing it away in her pocket. She examined her map, bracing it and herself on the table. Double-checked her trajectory; where she came from, where she was headed._

_Every flash of lightning crackled across the sky was to the north. East would take her out into open ocean.  
  
So it had to be South or west._

_She scanned her maps, the dim green lights of her old GPS_

_When looking for port, only one thing mattered._

_Trust the math._

_Nicole grabbed her radio microphone and squeezed the call button.  
  
"Pan, pan, pan! This is Calamity Jane Whiskey Mike niner-four-six-two-six." She repeated the call sign into the microphone. "Position is one two one degrees to the northeast of Cape Breton Island.  
  
"One adult on board. Calamity Jane is a twenty-five-foot vessel. Fracture in mainsail boom and possible tear in mainsail. Requiring navigation to the nearest harbor due to weather hazards."  
  
She repeated her call sign once more.  
  
Then waited.  
  
She kept her eyes on her radio, watching for any sign that someone was listening, that she wasn't about to disappear into this storm alone._

_A deafening crack sounded above her, and something like ten tons of wood and metal crashed onto the deck above.  
  
There goes the boom.  
  
And everything went dark. Her radio, her GPS._

_She added one more thing to her list.  
  
_Do not panic. __

_She scrambled back onto the deck to check her sail. She barely emerged from the cabin when a wall of water crashed down on her._

_You get wet when you spend a lot of time on a sailboat. That’s a given. But rarely does one fall prey to being completely leveled by a few dozen gallons of angry salt water._

_Water completely filled Nicole’s lungs as she was beaten down onto the deck. Her throat burned as she hacked and spluttered and gasped. The boat pitched and rocked like it wanted to knock her off her feet, like it was angry at Nicole chose to put it through this storm. She grabbed anything--a cleat, a rope, a handrail--to keep her from sliding off into the water._

_As she lay sprawled on the deck, something fizzled through her, and it happened so rarely she almost couldn't recognize why her stomach suddenly twisted and all the air squeezed from her lungs.  
  
It happened when she was four and fell off a dock without a life preserver and couldn't get her head above water…  
  
Each girl who touched her arm and sent a jolt of electricity up her arm…  
  
She felt it during one other storm, many years ago…  
  
She was scared. It only happened when she felt there was nothing else to do, when she was out of options. Up the creek without a paddle.  
  
As she felt the vessel crest once more, plummeting down the side of a wave, she squeezed her eyes shut, grabbing the nearest handle, waiting for everything to turn upside down, waiting to capsize.  
  
Everything went still, to just a gentle rocking of her boat.  
  
Everything went quiet.  
  
_

The shower stream sputtered a bit and ran cold. Nicole adjusted the taps until water warmed up again.

_  
She opened her eyes and lifted her head up._

_Rain continued to fall in heavy sheets, creeping under her jacket and soaking her clothes._

_She quickly felt around for the stairs and tumbled back down into the cabin.  
She rubbed her eyes, just to make sure she was really seeing the red "receiving" light blinking on and off. Her radio crackled and sputtered back at her.  
  
"Received mayday and request for routing toward nearest harbor. Ship sighted on radar. Divert vessel northwest for twenty-five decimal six nautical miles. Destination: Purgatory Harbor."  
  
The voice was calm. Steady. Young. Not something she was used to hearing over the radio.  
  
With a shaking hand, Nicole reached for her microphone to respond. "Copy. Diverting vessel three two zero degrees for twenty-five decimal six nautical miles.”_

_Her brain shifted back into autopilot as she pivoted--and nearly slipped on the water slowly gathering in the cabin--and clambered for the deck again. She grabbed the life jacket hung on the hook near the stairs to the deck and slung it across her shoulders, quickly doing up the straps before opening up the hatch._

_The rain started up again, dousing her face the moment she stepped onto the deck. A wave of sea water flooded down into the cabin. Rain and sea spray swirled around her. She wiped the water from her face, only to have more rain and sea spray cloud her vision once more._

_But she knew this boat.  
  
Knew where the straps and the gang lines were, how many pulls it took to raise and lower each sail._

_She reached and yanked at a few ropes, immediately feeling them go slack, then taught again as sails unfurled, capturing the storm, billowing up as large as the clouds above.  
  
She grabbed for her helm and threw it to the left. She grabbed a length of rope and tied a quick knot--a clove hitch--onto one of the spokes to at least keep herself from drifting in circles and, hopefully, toward land._

_Lightning split the sky above her.  
  
She reached into her jacket and pulled out the thin cylinder and yanked off the cap.  
  
Fire erupted in her hands as the flare sprang to life. She waved it above her head a few times, hoping the glare could cut through the clouds.  
  
After checking her lines one more time, she climbed back down into the cabin, tumbling down the last few steps as the boat rolled over another wave. She shouldered the water-tight door closed behind her.  
  
Wiping the rain from her face, she called back on her radio. "Vessel has altered sailing vectors, tower. I'm going to need you to update me on my position. Possible navigation malfunction. Calamity Jane has also deployed emergency flare off port stern. Requesting confirmation of visual on vessel."  
  
"Copy that, Calamity Jane. You're right on target. Stay the course. Will confirm visual on vessel."_

_Nicole hung up her microphone and leaned against the side of her boat. In the stillness, she realized she was taking rapid, shallow breaths._

_Having to wait didn't help._

_Port was still miles away, and would take close to an hour on a calm day.  
  
But what other choices did she--a powerless, broken vessel being tossed around mercilessly by nature--have?  
  
Just keep moving forward.  
  
She just hoped she heard the directions correctly.  
  
_"It was northwest…not northeast, right?" __

_In between the moments of turmoil, she checked up top to check if she was making progress._

_Nothing but rain and waves. For what felt like hours.  
  
Finally, she saw it.  
  
At first she thought it was another flash of lightning. It spanned the sky once. Twice. Three times.  
  
A light.  
  
A lighthouse.  
  
A harbor._

_Her stomach unknotted. She set her helm again and jumped back down into the cabin._

_The receiving light blinked again on her radio.  
  
"Confirmed vessel is in sight, Calamity Jane. Will await confirmation of arrival and docking into Purgatory Harbor."_

_As Nicole opened her mouth to respond, an echoing jolt shook her boat, sending Nicole sprawling onto the floor of her cabin._

__Oh, come on… __

_"Calamity Jane, are you still there?"_

_Nicole clambered back to her feet, mumbling a string of select curse words. She grabbed the dangling microphone. "Copy that, Purgatory Harbor. Vessel just struck…something."  
  
The red light blinked, but several seconds passed before anything came through. "Affirmative, Calamity Jane." They paused again. "Incoming ships not privy to our waters come through the passage too far to the south. A few underwater rock formations make the water pretty shallow. Are you taking on water?"_

_Nicole looked down. A few centimeters of water still sloshed around her feet, but nothing more than before. No leaks.  
  
"Negative, tower."  
  
"Is there anyone requiring medical attention on board?"  
  
"No. Any other hazards I should be aware of?"_

_"Negative, Calamity Jane. Still awaiting your arrival into the harbor."  
  
Nicole hung up her microphone and went up to the deck to check her lines.  
  
The flare still burned bright orange, sparkling behind the downpour. Nicole unwrapped the rope from her helm and adjusted her path as she finally caught sight of the green and red buoy lights. She weaved between them easily enough, the harbor providing some semblance of shelter from the tumultuous wake._

_When her hull finally made contact with the dock, a dull thud of fiberglass against saturated wood, all tension released from her body. With aching and trembling hands, she hastily tied herself to the dock cleats--not her best work, but, barring a hurricane, they would keep her moored._

_She climbed back down into the cabin and reached for her radio one last time._

_"Calamity Jane is docked in harbor. Thank you, tower. Out."_

_Nicole hung up her microphone and leaned against the side of the cabin, grateful for the gentle and steady rocking of her boat._

_She assessed the inside of the cabin. Nothing looked out of place. And while it didn't appear that the boat was taking on water from below--thank goodness--there was plenty of water collected from the swells that got into the cabin. She located a bucket and bailed a few gallons out of the cabin. It would take a thorough cleaning to get rid of all the water_

_But she couldn't stay here. Hopefully there was some sort of hotel in town.  
  
She opened the port bench seat where, thankfully, her gear had remained dry and unharmed. Her rucksack. A billfold. Change of clothes. She clicked off her headlamp and stowed it in her bag. She locked up her boat and went ashore.  
  
Nicole looked up at the harbor surrounding her. Dim street lights lined the bulkhead above the docks. Nicole followed them to the gangplank that took her up to the street.  
  
The town looked deserted. She reached into her jacket pocket again, feeling for the piece of rope. She started to twist it around her fingers as she surveyed the street.  
  
No cars. No people. A few buildings lined the cobble-stoned streets, illuminated by hazy and blinking streetlights. Every window dark.  
  
The exception was a single, looming building a block up from the bulkhead, a lodge built with thick logs and . Through the downpour a lazy trail of smoke bloomed from a wide chimney.  
  
An aging sign hung over the front façade, reading _The Peace Maker. Good Food. Fine Drink. Rooms Available.  
  


The water eventually ran completely cold, but Nicole regained enough feeling in her limbs to turn off the shower 

Having spent most of the time in the locker, her extra clothes weren't especially warm. But at least they were dry. Thank goodness she switched out her warm-weather set. Another shiver rocked her body at the thought of going downstairs in shorts and a tank top. She pulled on a t-shirt and jeans and her thick, blue cable knit sweater and slid her feet into the pair of canvas house shoes.  
  
An old radiator stood outside the door to the bathroom, already hosting an assortment of garments and linens. Nicole hung her clothes and towel nearby to dry.  
  
Coming down the stairs felt like déjà vu. She half-expected to find Marie at the bar, to have actually just woken up in the sleepy cape town and the storm and almost wrecking her boat was all a dream…

Instead, she found an empty dining hall, absent from the innkeeper who greeted her when she finally stumbled in from the storm.

  
_The Peace Maker was everything the last few hours of her life were not. Quiet. Gentle. Warm.  
  
But not totally abandoned, like the rest of the town seemed to be. A fire crackled tiredly in a hearth on the far side of the room, as if it were straining to stay awake. The room had the warmth of having held people at least a few hours before.  
  
She quickly scanned the room, looking for any sign of life, her eyes landing on miscellaneous nautical décor, a thick fleece jacket slung over the back of one of the stools at the bar. A newspaper lay open on the bar._

_"Oh thank the sea gods, I know you're brazen and reckless, but not enough to--"  
  
A middle-aged woman burst out from somewhere on the opposite side of the room, making Nicole jump. She stopped short when her eyes landed on Nicole.  
  
"Oh. You're not…" She had her hand raised, an accusatory finger pointed toward Nicole. She dropped it, her arms hanging limply at her sides._

_"No. I'm not," Nicole responded, peeling her hood back. "I don't think."  
  
The woman's shoulders dropped. She scrubbed her face with her hand, then considered Nicole again, her eyes landing on every aspect of this water-logged sailor trailing water into her bar. She put her hands on her hips._

_"Did you just come in off the water?" she demanded._

_Nicole nodded. "Yeah. It's pretty wild out there…"  
  
"Sure is. And what the hell are you doing sailing out there in the first place?"  
  
The _drip-drip_ of the water from Nicole's jacket tried to keep in time with the fire crackling in a stone hearth across the room.  
  
Before Nicole had a chance to defend herself, the woman continued.  
  
"I've got a radio behind the bar. It's connected to the one that comes through our lighthouse. Helps me keep track of all the comings and goings of the harbor. Heard Jeremy guiding someone into the harbor." The woman sighed, and her features softened a bit. She reached behind the bar, and procured a towel, which she handed to Nicole. "I suppose you're here lookin' for a place to dry off and warm up."  
  
"And stay the night, if you're able."  
  
"Oh I'm able alright," the woman said gruffly, leaning back against the bar. She let out a sad sigh before continuing. "Can hardly keep half my rooms full this time of year anyway. I'm empty right now, so you can have your pick. Just head on upstairs. Towels are in the bureau. Every two rooms share a bathroom." _

___"Thanks. I appreciate it."_ _ _

__

__The cavernous dining hall was empty, the lights appeared dimmer. Set at one of the tables was a steaming bowl of thick stew, a chunk of crusty bread, an empty mug, and a note.  
  
  
_Figured you might be hungry. Go ahead and just leave it on the table if you’re not. There's a kettle of hot water behind the bar if you want to make yourself some coffee or tea. Help yourself to any of the beers, too. Holler if you need anything.  
  
\--Gus__ _

__

__Nicole looked around, wondering just where she'd holler _to_ if she needed anything. No thumps or muffled movement sounded from anywhere around her. Her host disappeared like a ghost.  
  
Though it couldn’t’ve been more than a few hours since she last ate, her stomach gave a low, agonized growl._ _

__“Fine, fine. I’ll feed you.”_ _

__Where the shower warmed her outside, the stew slowly warmed Nicole's inside. By any measure, it was delicious--warm and aromatic with chunks of seasoned root vegetables probably picked from a nearby vegetable patch. But as she filled up, something else settled in her stomach. She filled up with soup not meant for her, bread baked--possibly special--to welcome someone else home.  
  
She was used to quiet, but not always stillness. Exhausted as she felt, she couldn't keep her knee from bouncing, her fingers from twitching.  
  
She picked up her bowl and picked at her soup as she wandered around the dining room.  
  
In another part of the world, this would've been a hunting lodge. High ceilings fortified with immovable redwood beams and iron bracings. In place of antlers and bear heads were black and white photographs of old men with bushy white beards and captains hats, standing next to his catch.  
  
The fire in the grand stone hearth--probably used for cooking during a past lifetime, but now just used for heat and ambiance--crackled slower and slower, signaling to her that even _it_ was tired for the night.  
  
The chairs--not a single matching pair among them--were all stacked on the rest of the tables. A wooden platform, raised a few inches from the floor, stood in the corner opposite the bar.  
  
Nicole sopped up the warm, herby broth with the crusty bread left out for her. It must've been baked hours ago, but it was still soft and chewy. She probably could've eaten a whole loaf if she had the chance.  
  
She carried her dishes and empty mug over to the bar. She rinsed out her bowl in the shallow sink inserted into the bar.  
  
She looked over at the taps--a half dozen ornately carved wooden pulls seemingly built into the bar itself. One had blobs of foam leaking from the spigot, dripping onto the counter._ _

__Not tonight.  
  
She filled her mug with hot water and dug around for something herbal and calming in the tin canister set beside the kettle. She let the bag steep as she took one final survey of the place.  
  
It smelled like salt water and sawdust and wood smoke. Every surface was dinged in one way or another._ _

__Wrought-iron chandeliers hung from the beams, re-wired with electric lights, but once held oil lamps to illuminate the hidden crevices of the room. Near the entrance was a set of giant sliding doors, reinforced by the same hammered steel. She looked up, recognizing the chains and ropes once used to haul and store boats._ _

__Buoys and life rings here hung around the room, all with _Peace Maker_ scrawled on them in faded block lettering.  
  
But none of it was staged, not like the atmospheric destination resorts and restaurants of the mainland. It had started as one thing, then slowly shifted into another as time passed.  
  
These kinds of places didn't exist anymore.  
  
Not bars that doubled as resting places for lost sailors.  
  
Boathouses. Workshops that built and stored and created boats that lasted decades._ _

__But the town needed an inn more, so they made one. _She_ needed one. The universe found her one._ _

__She climbed the stairs, feeling her legs, her eyes, her everything growing heavy.  
  
She entered her room--at the end of the hallway, away from the stairs--and let the door close behind her. It was louder than she anticipated--a feature of the old wooden architecture--and she flinched at how loud it was. She grimaced at the volume, only to relax a moment later when she remembered she was the only person in the lodge.  
And the only person on the entire island, it seemed.  
  
She set her tea on the small bedside table, where it would go undrunk the whole night, only to go cold and bitter.   
  
A thick, handmade patchwork quilt was draped over the bed. It was probably older than Nicole, but she didn't care. She climbed under it, surprised at how soft and light it was. It smelled like pine and lilacs.  
  
Rain pattered against the small window above the carved headboard._ _

__And as her head hit the pillow, her body finally still, a single thought thrummed rhythmically through her mind.  
  
Just one day.  
  
_Just one day…__ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging around for this one.
> 
> More is on the horizon!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos get you points for the Good Place.
> 
> P.S. Always wear a life jacket.
> 
> For personal inquiries/all-caps reactions, head over to the Twitters: @TeachEarp_

**Author's Note:**

> Three updates in three months? What is this, 2017???
> 
> In all seriousness, this is something that's been floating (heh) around in my brain for a long time, and this was a great catalyst for getting it out into the universe.
> 
> And, yes, this will be something that will continue.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, fam!
> 
> Kudos and comments get you points for getting into the Good Place <3
> 
> Personal inquiries/shrieks into the void can be submitted to @TeachEarp_ on the Twitters :)


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